


Dirty

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Corpses, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Killing Darkspawn, Mud, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex in the Mud, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place during the Fifth Blight, Alistair and Warden Cousland go for a walk, and end up caught in the rain. They are ambushed by Darkspawn, and even in the wake of all the chaos - surrounded by darkspawn corpses and standing in a foot of mud - they still want each other, and not even their filthy surroundings can keep their hands from wandering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless smut. Written as a request, for tumblr user itsmytimetotalk. <3

Her head spun. Everything ached, but she had no time to waste on pain as she awaited the second blow. Yet, it never came.

To her surprise, the beast let out a gurgling shriek, only slightly muffled in the rainfall. From the ground, Cousland blinked hard and searched the scene wildly, brushing her hair out of her face with some difficulty. Her hands were caked in dirt, and it was quickly becoming smeared cross her skin, turning it to mud.  Through the mist of the downpour, her fellow Warden’s armor shone, glistening as the droplets ran across the slick surface of the metal.

Alistair yanked his arm back. With a crunch, the blade emerged from the creature’s chest, dripping in black. Tar-like blood spurted from the dying hurlock, and the sound it made was sickening as its hideous figure crumpled to the ground.

The two of them watched in disgust as the corpse continued to ooze its inhuman blood, thinning in the wet earth around it and staining the mud an ugly shade of coal.

When Alistair turned back to her, she saw that beneath his helm, he was panting heavily. “Alistair,” she gasped. In this weather’s din, she could not tell if he heard her, but he approached immediately, sheathing his weapon and offering her a hand. She took it shakily, the back of her head still throbbing, and stumbled only a little as she got to her feet. He caught her deftly, and she looked up at him with relief.

“That had to have been the last of them,” he said, but he seemed distracted as he looked at her, his face growing soft and a smile spreading gently there.

Something in her rumbled. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that there was another. Darkspawn bodies lay in heaps around them, but there was a straggler. She reached behind her back to lay a prepared hand on her crossbow, and shook her head, glancing around them. Alistair stiffened. She knew he could feel it too.

Through the haze, she could not see, but she sensed its presence some yards behind Alistair. He had not noticed. She drew her crossbow just as it began to charge, and Alistair was not quick enough to draw his weapon. She shoved him out of the way, and aimed despite her dizziness. It was less than a foot from her, its jaws wide, its breath putrid, when the bolt pierced the genlock’s forehead. She let out a whine of disgust as the darkspawn fell backward, splashing blood and dirt across her already filthy greaves. Alistair’s sword was drawn again, but he looked bemused. “Nice save,” he said with a shaky chuckle.

Cousland laughed, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. “Next time we decide to go for a walk,” she panted, “let’s not do it when the sky is grey, shall we?”

The man wrinkled his nose. “Hey, if we weren’t in the middle of a Blight, I bet you’d think a walk in the rain was romantic.” He sounded like a wounded puppy as he sheathed his blade a second time.

“Would I, now?” she smirked.

“What, you don’t think rain is romantic?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. His cheek was smudged with darkspawn blood, and there was red under his hairline. She reached for him, and he came to her happily. The rain was quickly washing away the blood from his scalp, but Cousland ran her fingers through it, checking him for any severe wounds. He smiled and hummed pleasantly at her touch, linking his fingers behind her back so she was encircled in his arms.

Her lips twitched. “It can be romantic, sure,” she conceded. “Just… not when we’re covered in darkspawn innards.”

Alistair’s laugh was low and deep and she felt it even beneath her leather breastplate. “What,” he said loudly in a mocking tone, “you don’t find it sexy to be surrounded by corpses and covered in blood?”

She snorted, and he split into a wide grin. Rainwater was running down the bridge of his nose, and dripping from his brow. His hair was completely drenched. “Are you telling me,” he went on, “you aren’t turned on by this?” He took her by the hand, suddenly, and spun her away from him, as though in a dance. She shrieked with laughter, and squealed when he whirled her back into his arms. “Even though I saved your life, like a big hero?” He winked. Maker, but he was handsome, and the smell of upturned earth mixed with elfroot, sweat, and blood was strangely heady. It made her feel a little light-headed. He kissed her cheek, and just as she opened her mouth to respond, he moved down to her jawline, silencing her immediately. She shuddered.

“Alistair,” she gasped. “You know that’s my weak spot.”

He chuckled, and she felt his hands tighten around her waist. “I do know that,” he agreed softly, and she whined as his lips trailed then to her neck.

“You… arse,” she breathed. “But I’m so… dirty,” she insisted. “We’re both covered in blood. This is hardly the time…”

Her Warden lover pouted, and she lost all her resolve. “But we’re finally alone,” he said sweetly. “That’s all I wanted when I suggested we go for a walk…”

“Alone,” she agreed, “but filthy!”

“So?” He went back to kissing her neck, his words coming out muffled against her slippery skin. “It’s not like we haven’t done it outside on the ground before,” he reminded her.

She laughed heartily, her bosom swelling as he pressed her closer, running his tongue along her wet collarbone. She shuddered and blushed. “But we were hardly coated in mud and darkspawn guts then,” she told him, recalling fondly the time he'd made love to her in the wilds.

His gentle laugh shook her insides. “True,” he agreed. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t... _do_ something for me to see you fight.” He quirked a brow and nipped her flesh lightly.

Cousland was very pink. “Seeing me _exist_ seems to do something for you, Alistair.”

“Well you’re very good at it!”

She rolled her eyes, but his hands were roaming now and it was distracted her. “Alistair… my love, I… I hate to say it, but if you don’t stop, my hormones are going to get very confused.”

“Good,” Alistair mumbled. “Everything about our lives is confusing. Yet haven't I always said, we…” He kissed the hollow of her neck, making her gasp. “... Found beauty amidst all the ugliness, didn’t we? Why can’t we find a bit more?”

She laughed, but it was more of a shrill moan. “So you’re really saying we should find the sexy amidst the absolutely disgusting?”

Alistair’s fingers pressed firmly into her sides, and her knees gave out as her arousal flared. He held her tight and lowered her to the ground, still kissing her chest where her low-cut armor left it exposed. “Why not?” he whispered. The rain beat upon her face as she threw head back, biting her lip. Surely this Warden was going to be the death of her one day.

“Damn it, you,” she breathed. He ran his fingers through her slick hair. “Seriously?” She found her fingers clawing at the back of his neck, and before even thinking about it, she had thrown his helmet to the ground. “You… seriously want this?” There were putrid, gaping corpses on either side of them, and the ground was squash and cold beneath her. “Seriously? Here? Now?” But despite it all, she wore a wide, devious grin.

His mouth met hers, and she groaned as he dug his tongue into her, balling his hand into a fist in her long hair. “I thought you liked it dirty,” he growled playfully, his lips still pressed wetly against her own.

“This takes 'dirty' to a whole new level, Alistair,” she gasped. She leaned back on her palms, her fingers sinking into the damp earth, as he crawled over her. “Maker, you really are unbelievable, y’know that?”

“So I’ve heard,” he said, and at that he took her bottom lip between his teeth. She moaned. The sound was low and deep, and it fueled him. He tugged hard, baring a grin, so she yelped in pain and felt a rush of excitement flood her lower belly. Maker, she thought spitefully, it was unfair how he always knew just what she liked. When his teeth finally released her, she sighed his name. Her insides ached, surprising herself in their surroundings. “Alistair.” His eyes looked heavy with lust as he met her gaze, removing his filthy gauntlets without looking at them. Mindlessly, she followed suit, unfastening the buckles around her forearms with unconscious motions memorized long ago. “Alistair,” she breathed again.

“I love you,” he hissed.

“Not the time for that,” she said, smiling. “This isn’t exactly the atmosphere for _lovemaking_ , is it?”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Then shall I simply fuck you, love?” His eyes darted to her mouth, and she bit her lip, going flush at the way his voice deepened, thick with lust.

She nodded. “Please,” she moaned, hurriedly pulling at the buckles around her waist.  His laugh was gentle and teasing, and he pushed her back, so she was lying flat in the mud. She felt disgusting, dirty, but she was aching for him, and didn’t want to back down now. “Maker, please.” The rain felt rather pleasant on her face, though her skin was soaking and cold.

“I like that,” he said. “When you beg.”

With a sly grin, Cousland twisted her fingers into his blonde hair, and yanked him forward. He hissed, and narrowed his eyes at her. “Please,” she begged, staring him down and reveling in the way his dripping face reddened. “Please fuck me, Alistair. Please.” She spread her legs wide, her heels digging into the mud with a sickening squelch, and pulled him to her. His armored hips befell hers, and she cursed all the steel and leather between them.

The broad-shouldered Warden growled, and buried his face in her shoulder. Blindly, he fumbled with her leather skirt, while she laughed and kissed his ear. “Off,” she demanded, fingering the waist of his armor. “Off! Please. I need you.” Their heavy panting was barely audible beneath the roar of the rain, but they could feel one another heaving; feel the heat radiating between them.

“Oh, Maker, yes.”

Together, they worked at his complicated tasset in silence. It was far more difficult when the steel was so slippery with rainwater and blood. She moaned anticipatorily as it finally came undone, and fell away in pieces with a muffled clang.

Alistair was hard. The kneecaps of his greaves were sinking slightly into the soggy ground, but he kept upright, his erection remaining proud. He smirked, pressing it against her thigh incessantly so she could feel how much he needed her. She half laughed, half moaned, and reached between them to touch him. Her grasp made him cry out, though the sound was mostly lost in a distant roll of thunder. Through clenched teeth, he whined her name - even as raindrops rolled over his lips. “I need to be inside you,” he hissed.

Cousland nodded, shimmying beneath him to slide her trousers slightly down her legs. He sat up, and helped remove them all the way, and she groaned irritably as she watched them heap in the mud beside them. Her hair was sticky and heavy with it, and her ass was now freezing cold in the muck. She shuddered, and pulled a face. He laughed. “Pleasant?” he quipped.

She stuck out her tongue. “I’ll be happier once you’re fucking me,” she insisted, wrapping her legs around him. He fell forward onto her once more, crushing her into the ground beneath the weight of his massive breastplate. Her leathers crunched under the pressure, but her plate did not crack. She grinned helplessly as he kissed her, and through a mouthful of his tongue, she said again, “Please… fuck me, Alistair.”

“Maker, we’re filthy,” he breathed, reaching between them with some difficulty. He slid the head of his cock along her aching cunt, and both of them sucked in a breath at the touch.

“Completely… disgusting,” she sighed. Then she looked at him, pleading with her eyes. “Please,” she begged desperately. He nodded shakily, his wet hair falling into his eyes and dripping onto her face.

With a slight angle of her hips, she gave him more room, and he thrust forward - burying himself inside her in one swift motion. He filled her, thick and warm, and she felt pleasantly hot all over for the first time since they’d gotten caught in this dreaded storm. A loud moan fell from her, and she tossed her weighted head back into the mud with an ugly splash. She let her eyes fall closed, and covered her face as Alistair held her down with his hands at her shoulders. “Maker,” he grunted, and both of them felt their hearts leap slightly as he pulled almost all the way out.

As he slid back in, they moaned together, and she lashed out, taking a fistful of his hair. “Please!” she sobbed, sounding very shrill in the downpour. “Fuck me, Alistair.” He nodded, and thrust into her again. “Harder. Fuck me hard, Alistair. Fucking hurt me. If we’re going to fuck dirty, we might as well do it right.” This made them both laugh, but it had the desired result. Alistair covered her mouth with his hand, knowing the sort of noise she could make, and picked up his pace. With every thrust, her hips sunk in the mud, and she balled her fingers into tight fists at his scalp to stop from screaming. Her stomach was in knots. She was disgusted by the feel of the ground around them, but in some sick way it added to her mounting pleasure. Alistair looked so bizarrely delicious with darkspawn blood splashed across his face and streaked in his hair. She could not explain it, even to herself.

But her inexplicable shame was overpowered by the sensation of Alistair holding her down. She breathed heavily through her nose, the rain threatening to suffocate her, and that thrill sent a pulse to her cunt as Alistair fucked her. He struggled to move fast when he was so weighed down by his armor, but the violence of each plunge more than made up for his speed. “Maker,” he choked out, his fingers trembling against her lips. She let out a muffled sob of exquisite agony as he rammed deep inside of her and held himself there. She could feel his heartbeat through his cock, it seemed, for there was a quiet rhythm to their joining even when he was motionless. Their breathing was in sync, and their eyes locked, hers screaming silently for more.

The rain cascaded over Alistair’s armor, striking the steel in loud repetitive slaps - constant white noise that made her ears ring. His broad, muscular back worked as her shield to the rain, though still the droplets rolled through his hair and down the tip of his nose to surprise her with a splash. His pauldrons were slippery to the touch, and she could not get a good hold on him as he hammered her hips forcefully into the ground. It did not matter. She planted her grip in his hair again, and watched him. He grunted with every motion, and the sound was so beautifully primal, base on a level that tickled her insides and made her head spin. Pleasure was pooling in her gut, rising as he slid in and out of her. She could barely stand the hungry glare he fixed her with, it was too delicious; too powerful: she worried she might drown in him if she stared too long.

She was filled with the scent of blood and dirt, but her body was on fire. Even when surrounded by cold mud and crushed by both the rain and the weight of his heavy armor, she was warm. Nothing could touch her like this. There was no room left for anything but Alistair. She tried to reach him, to beg “Please, Alistair! More!” but her voice caught beneath his palm, and instead she let out a stifled wail of desperation. Her grip tightened in his hair, and her Warden lover gasped and threw his head back.

With a grunt, he picked up the pace. It was too much. The trickle of pleasure had become a roaring fire, and her eyes rolled back. She tried to scream, but her voice cracked. He pressed down on her mouth harder now, his face very close to hers. “Fucking disgusting,” he spat, his lip curling in amusement.

Then, as he pressed his lips to her jawline, the friction of his cock mounting to obscene heights, the pressure in her finally burst.

She came, back arching, fingers clawing at every part of him she could reach. Her face was beet red, suffering her failed scream behind his makeshift gag. The flood of the orgasm was near torture. She needed more than this; needed to feel his skin against her own. She thrashed, furious, desperate for him - but he held her down, fucking her still more forcefully until she was sobbing. Her arms fell to her sides. She was going limp with soreness, but she dug her fingers into the blood-soaked earth as though this would brace her against his pounding. It didn’t. Her body was lurched with every thrust, and it seemed to almost go on forever, until -

Alistair moaned. It was a low, rich sound that filled her as readily as he did, and she felt it - warm, wet come, pooling deep in her cunt, coating them both. It oozed from her before he pulled out, as he held himself there, overcome by the bliss of her warmth. They gazed at each other for a moment, feeling the calm of postcoitus wash over them more intensely than the continued rain.

It seemed a long while before he removed his hand from her mouth, and rolled off of her. They both groaned. Her thighs ached already from the pressure of keeping them spread and stretched for him. He put a hand to his chest, laughing. “Oh, Maker,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “That was…”

“Dirty.”

“Hey, that’s what I was gonna say!”

She smirked. “I know.”

“Word thief!”

“Oh, shut it.” She swatted him on the arm, though he could not feel it through his heavy pauldron. He chuckled.

Slowly, the world returned to them. Both were staring up into a grey sky that was practically raining wyverns on them, and lying in thick, wet filth. “This really is,” she said, pulling a face, “truly disgusting.”

Alistair snorted, and pushed himself to his feet with some difficulty. “We need a bath, don’t we?”

“You’re telling me! Look at us!” She sat up. Her leather was nearly black with layers of mud and darkspawn blood. She did not want to think about how her hair must look. Alistair, at least, had managed to keep his head off the ground. Lucky bastard. She glared at him, and he offered her a hand to pull her to her feet.

Once standing, she fixed her leather tasset and trousers before helping Alistair with his much more complicated armor. It took some time, during which they almost toppled over once and giggled often. When the last buckle was affixed, he kissed her.

Sighing into his mouth, Cousland felt a chill shake her - one that had nothing to do with the freezing rain. “I love you,” she breathed. He smiled against her lips, and she giggled.

“I love you, too.” His lips felt like heaven. She nuzzled against his cheek, overwhelmed.

“It is a testament to how much I love you that I allowed this to happen in such conditions,” she rasped, teasing him with a weak grin.

“You mean… you let me fuck you in a foot of mud… because you love me?”

She whacked his shoulder playfully again. “I s’pose you could say that.”

They kissed once more - long and slow this time, until they were both breathless and seemed to have forgotten the rain again. Slowly, the weather acted as a slight shower, and when she pulled away she noted that her arms were a little less dirty than they had been a minute ago.

“Alright,” she said suddenly. “I love you, but all these corpses are not exactly doing much for the romantic atmosphere.”

“Oh, I dunno,” he chirped rather happily. “I was just thinking of changing the decor of our campsite to have it match this place. I think it creates a certain... _mood_ , don’t you?” He winked.

Rolling her eyes, Cousland started off without him on sore legs.

“Hey!” He bounded after her, reminding her strongly of her Mabari. “Wait for me!” But she didn’t have to. He caught up with her within seconds.

“Will you bathe me later?” she asked, pouting in his direction as they sludged through the damp ground.

Alistiar smiled warmly, rainwater running down the tip of his nose. “It would be an honor, my lady,” he said.

Grinning, blushing so furiously she was sure she must have looked very silly, Cousland slipped her hand in his. His palm was wet, but soft, and surprisingly warm. It felt nice. “I love you,” she said again.

“I love you, too.” He squeezed her hand, and they made the rest of the trip in silence.

Neither of them noticed, until they were back at camp, that they had left their gauntlets behind. The garments lay beside one another, quickly becoming bogged with water. They became slowly buried by the earth and elements - temporary landmarks to tribute their filthy indiscretion.


End file.
